Rising legends
by jesusmysavior911
Summary: Something strange happened after Prowl mysteriously faints after searching through the rubble in Praxus. Something is in him now, somthing powerful. And it's up to Jazz to figure out just that, but what is it, and why does he feel like it's going to change the entire outcome of the war?
1. Chapter 1

The scalpel gleamed in-between his rough hands as he tried to clean the instrument again. Ratchet swore that if Wheeljack hurt himself again, he was going to blow a gasket. Well, he would if he had one, but the sentiment was understood. He paused to listen to the soft breathing of Prowl's monitors, and gave a hefty sigh. The rest of the army had no idea how much time their 2nd in command spent here. Though he supposed that he couldn't exactly blame Prowl. The rest of the army was not aware how much extra clock in time he did either. Sure, they knew that he stayed overtime more often than not, but that didn't know that he could do it for full days, two, if it was important. The boy had been up for 3 days, at the least. Not even a direct order from Prime had sent the stubborn young man to bed. No, it had to take an unexplained occurrence for Prime to go looking for him, and find him passed out in the rubble, shaking from the cold and shock of whatever happened while he was out there.

Though he still couldn't blame Prowl for his diligence in trying to find any survivors in his home. He's completely dissimilated home.

Decepticons had completely destroyed Praxus, for no other reason than they could. Prowl had said it himself. There were no vital resources, no battle advantage in the conquering. Nothing but lowering the moral of the Autobots.

And it had worked.

Ratchet walked back to the medical bed and looking down at the sleeping SiC. The hair, all but the bangs for some reason, had turned a startling white, and he could tell the skin was even paler than before, and that was saying something, probably from the shock. But the young man was curled up into a small ball, a peaceful expression spreading across his face.

'_Classic sign of repressed childhood'_ his 'Medical' voice whispered and he ignored it. He had known that for a long time. As soon as he woke up though, that cold expression would return. Prowl would once again be cold, hard, no-emotions, SiC, and no one would see the younger man that he had the rare privilege that he did. Peaceful. Not so much as calm, as it was content. An expression he would never see in waking hours at least.

He would never tell Prowl, or anybody else, but he worried about Prowl, out of everybody, he worried most about him. He knew that Prowl had lied about his age when he joined, he didn't know how much, but he knew that he did. First time Prowl had crashed from something becoming 'illogical', Ratchet had smudged the make-up on his face to reveal a _much_ younger male than the one he was taking orders from. Ratchet shook those sentimental thoughts from his head. He would get Prowl to tell him one day, maybe not soon, but he would figure out some trick to get Prowl to tell him.

Prowl's eyes fluttered, as he started to stir.

Ratchet checked the monitors, lowering the anti-pain meds by just a tad.

"You awake Sleeping Beauty?" Ratchet muttered, and glanced back to his patient's face.

The hand around the railing clenched against the cold metal, and he carefully kept his face concealed from shock when Prowl's eyes opened.

Prowl's eyes had always been an unusual blue, common among Praxian's of course, but with so few alive he couldn't tell, but they had never _glowed. _Prowl didn't notice however, so he wouldn't say anything, _yet,_ as he pushed the pale Officer back to the Medical slab. A moan escaped from Prowl's lungs, rubbing his face wearily.

"Please tell me I didn't pass out in front of the troops." Prowl was always afraid of being weak in front of them, and his crashes weren't public knowledge, he wanted to keep it that way. But that wasn't what he was here for.

"You don't remember anything?"

First sign: Amnesia, temporary or permanent to be determined. Along with a flushed appearance and slight fever.

Slag it, and they really needed Prowl to remember. There was no evidence at the scene as to what happened, only a shaking SiC.

"No, I don't. Care to explain the damage, Dr.?" He asked, carefully sitting up just in case he felt dizzy again. He was okay though, and sat all the way up again. His eyes still glowed mysteriously, and Ratchet shifted mentally, while steading the man again.

"We found you lying on near the rubble of Sector X, and nothing else. Nothing to indicate you'd been attacked or anything, but you went into shock. Your newly white hair is proof of that." Ratchet handed him a mirror, and Prowl looked carefully, running his hand through the snow white hair experimentally. He touched his temple in a way that Ratchet knew that he was thinking. After a moment, he shook his head.

"All I can remember is a bright flash as I was…as I was…" he trailed off, clutching at a worn out Praxian police badge in his pocket, the numbers rubbed off from the callousness of Prowl's thumb. That was another thing that had bothered Ratchet. Prowl was Praxian, born and raised, you could see it in the way he talked, and walked, the careful calmness he excluded, so why wasn't he more upset about his home city being destroyed? Shouldn't he at least have shed a tear, a sad look, something? They hadn't seen any signs of remorse from their cold second in command. Was he just hiding it where no one could see him? That would be more his style, but Ratchet would still like to know exactly what was going on in the young man's mind. He shook it off as Prowl's famous 'Privacy policy' that he also extended to the troops, which they were secretly grateful for. You could trust Prowl not to impose on your private life.

"Alright, you know the drill." He said, taking him off the light pain sedative he had on him. Prowl sat up, and they started the routine, with a few more minutes spent examining his nerves and reflexes according to how the brain worked. Ratchet pulled the eye chart out and started paying particularly close attention.

Prowl called the letters out, as usual, but Ratchet could see his pupil almost into a slit when the words got smaller. That and Prowl could now read the bottom line without squinting, a font of 12 from 20 feet away, something only Optimus could do, with ease.

How had Prowl's eyesight increased from 20/30 to 20/10, after a collapse?

He left the question in his mind and released Prowl for discharge, yelling at him to eat, knowing that the Commanding officer would go straight back to work anyway.

He sighed and turned towards the table to clean it off.

"What am I gonna do with you, kid?" he asked exasperated.


	2. Chapter 2

Smoky had been released from Med Bay earlier than Prowl, and seeing his shock white hair, felt thankful that the only alteration in his own hair was a bright patch of sun bright blond hair in the center of his forehead. There was also the fact that he probably got much more sleep than the work-a-holic second in command. The only thing they had in common was the fact they were both Praxian born and tactic training. Smokescreen gambled, wasn't above lying, and also was a social man. Prowl was not. Smokescreen got drunk, made a fool of himself, and partied. A lot. Prowl did not.

So why did he feel the unexplainable need to makes sure that his little brother was okay?

Did he just call his commanding officer little brother?

They weren't even close. They didn't treat each other beyond a professional relationship. So why?

He clutched the hastily finished report in his hand, his excuse for being here, if he needed one, if whatever instinct that pulled him here was horribly, terribly wrong.

He felt something like a certain smugness, like it knew what he knew exactly what he was doing and Smokescreen was being foolish for not believing in him, rise up inside him. He ignored the feeling as he opened the tent flap of the makeshift tent that they had made for the officers.

He stepped into the dim room, the only light being from a low, battery powered lamp, to see a sight he was pretty sure that he thought he would never see as long as he lived. Not even Prime had seen this.

Prowl, stotic, cold, Prowl, clutching a vodka bottle, his uniform un-buttoned and undone. His newly white hair shining ghostly pale in the low light. His eyes glowing and heavily shadowed. Prowl had definitely been crying.

Maybe Smokescreen was right to come.

Prowl looked up at him after a minute, completely unsurprised.

"You… felt it too?" he murmured, hands still around the glass neck. Smokescreen gently placed the report down on the desk, and gently took the bottle from his hand, Prowl's fingers dripping like a leaky faucet from the glass. He noticed that the bottle was already halfway gone.

Prowl smiled sadly, "Oh, it's not enough to get me drunk, just buzzed." He chuckled sourly. "Unfortunately, we Eah's know hold our _Arak_" A foreign accent slipping out from his tongue, natural and strange. It defiantly wasn't Praxian.

If half a bottle of Vodka couldn't get Prowl drunk, Smokescreen could understand why he never went to the parties. The whole point was to get drunk, but if he couldn't even do that and relax, what was the point. Maybe Ratchet didn't get drunk easy either, and that's why he didn't go.

Prowl had stood up and wobbled to the window at some point, pulling back the camouflage back flap to show the rubble of the once proud city.

"I'm not sad." He whispered, just above the wind pouring in. "I'm angry." He hissed, a different voice coming from Prowl's mouth. It was ancient, and young, and powerful, echoing like it was in a cave. "But…at least my children are with the Creator now. Better there, until we can build our nest again, right brother?"

Smokescreen was pulled inside himself, and the one left was someone else, something else, in his place. Something older than the thing inside Prowl. It wrapped Prowl's body up in Smokescreen's arms tightly; knowing what was coming before the other did. Lightening crackled above them, and Prowl broke in Smokescreen's arms just as lightening cracked, illuminating the shapes in the tent, the shadows longer and more animal than any human shadow had any right to be.


	3. Chapter 3

Whatever had taken over the night before had left them, leaving the Prowl and Smokescreen embarrassed and both in an awkward silence. Smokescreen fiddled with the edge of his uniform, worry seething in him, though it didn't show.

'_What was I thinking? He is going to court-marshal me! Worse, he is going to throw me out of the Autobot Army!' _He's thoughts screamed at him.

Prowl was more along the lines of, _'Why did I trust Smokescreen, of all men? Because He's praxian? But that's not it, I don't know what….' _

They looked at one another, carefully evaluating one another.

"I'm not going to report this, if you don't say anything." Prowl stated, not looking at him. "Last night was alcohol and comfort of the purer intent. Nothing more."

Smokescreen, mentally, of course, was thanking Primus that Prowl seemed to understand.

"Right, totally." He paused a moment, hesitating. But something told him that it would be okay.

"Yes Smokescreen?"

"You…can come talk to me if you ever need to. I mean, the psychology degree isn't just for show you know. I know that I'm one of the biggest gamblers in the world, but only with money. Never knowledge. And I do the whole Patient-Doc. Confidentiality thing, no cameras or anything." He rambled slightly, not knowing how to form the security he was trying to give the commander.

Prowl's first instinct was to refuse but what came out of his mouth was, "Thank you, I will."

Smokey left, strangely content almost relieved, like he had forged a strained relationship, Prowl the same way. They both received their rations, a break of bread and a liter of water for the morning and their shift, but Prowl went to change first, the uniform from last night wrinkled and smelling slightly like Vodka.

He stripped it off, the scars from various battles nearly blending perfectly in his pale skin, and looked carefully in the mirror.

His skin was strange looking today, like the pallor couldn't decide rather to stay its characteristic paleness, or go into a deeper color, but he blamed it on the alcohol. There was a spot, however, in the middle of his chest, was a t-shaped spot in the middle that was white, whiter than his skin usually was. He rubbed at it thoughtfully, not sure from where it came. It almost looked…unfinished.

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of such foolish thoughts. He pulled out a nearly white suit for the second in command uniform and pulled it on with pride. He had earned this position. He reached for the top shelf of the closet to pull out a hat when his fingers toughed a small velvet box.

He gingerly pulled the box from its place, blowing most of the dust off the top. Prowl, as if in a trance, popped the box open to reveal a small pendent, no bigger than his thumb, with a phoenix printed proudly into the brass. He hadn't thought about this small thing since he was 16. He rubbed the Praxian letters fondly, Ban Slenhnu, roughly, White Cloak.

The legend of the White Cloak was taught as early as you could to your children. Well, the White Cloak and his brothers.

It started when Primus looked down upon this patch of land and saw great potential in it, and so named it Praxus, a different form of his name, and planted a single golden crystal in the heart of the land. What he did not know, was that he shed a single drop of blood on the edge of the crystal, and the land was so fertile, that it grew a life. A single bird arose from the crystal; he's royal blue and red underside, beautiful and new, his yellow plumage tall and graceful. Primus looked on this unexpected creation and smiled upon it. He gifted this fiery bird with the purpose of travelling across his world, and getting close to his other creations, telling him what they were thinking from their view point. For help with this purpose, he gifted him with charm, a natural friendly attitude, and sociable nature, in order to get the job done. Were anyone to suspect of his purpose however, he would disappear with a whirl of smoke. With this in mind, he gave this fiery bird the name, Toit Tsillah, roughly Smoke shade.

As time passed, Primus saw that the phoenix had become lonely. He had his purpose, but no one to simply be with when he returned to his nest in Praxus.

So Primus planted a new crystal beside the other, this one colored the bright red of Blood, and so bore a brother for Toit Tsillah.

This phoenix was born as white as a Priest's robe, its underside black as night, his red plumage high and tall, and his bright blue eyes as sharp as his golden beak. To show he was brother to Toit Tsillah, a small golden flame burned in the base of his plumage. He was much more intimidating because of the anger boiling in Primus's blood when he planted him.

It was around this time that Prime had created others like him, and they had settled into Praxus, along with the other noble cities like Iacon, Eos, Kaon, Polyhex, Vos, Axiom Nexus, and Tyger Pax and he could already see the workings of Unicron in them, and so saw I need for a protector.

And so he gave this new brother the purpose of defending the city and all of its inhabitants from the corrupted ones Unicron made. He would defend him day and night, according to the contrasting colors in his feathers. To help with this task, Primus gifted him with fair judgment, cold logic, and a fiery passion for the task he was set for. But the phoenix knew that criminals hide in dark places, and so learned how to skirt silently and wait for the proof to catch them. It was with this unique ability in mind that he was named Ban Slenhnu, or White Cloak.

The brothers hadn't exactly been getting along for centuries now, White Cloak being consumed with his purpose, and Smoke Shade started behaving more like the criminals from which he was putting away, in the act of betting, gambling, and excessive lying. They both decided that they needed a change. Or, perhaps someone to simply see it from both sides of the table. And so they made an egg of the purest sky blue and they shed tears over the egg in regret that they had grown so far apart. And out came a phoenix of silver and light blue, his eyes cut from the clouds, his faded red crest tall and happy, a bright gold flame at the base to resemble the rekindled bond. Primus saw what they had done and examined this new creation with joy, for in it was the lost happiness and laughter of the two brothers. He was created by the brothers, and so for the first time, they agreed. They agreed that his purpose should be to watch over the children and make the crystals grow, but also to keep the peace between the two brothers. Being so young, and not made from Primus, but from the two phoenix brothers, he was able to develop his own characteristics and abilities. He was given the name Speir Marc, also translated Sky Mark.

Eventually, Toit Tsillah became the patron of Saboteurs, psychiatrist, and other such professions that was required to get inside people's heads, and of course, that included con-artists, gamblers, and the occasional swindler.

Speir Marc became the patron of children, counselors, Social Workers and peacemakers; although legends said that he was an excellent marksman when he flew his flame. He just wanted everyone to get along, and for all to be fair.

Of course, Ban Slenhnu became the Saint for Policemen, Enforcers, all who protected the beloved city and judged those who had wronged. Always exposed by his white-hot lightening.

They were all supposed to protect Praxus.

His hands clenched around the little brass pendent, it becoming warm in his palm.

Where were they now, this supposed protectors? Where were they when their precious city fell? When his home had burned? When his little sister… When his father had…

His eyes burned, becoming blurry with tears he refused to shed, so he didn't see the image in the mirror morphing into something sharper, making his white uniform glow.

"_We did what we could!" _a voice cried, even though he only heard it faintly. It broke him from his depressed state, head jerking up. He twisted around trying to find the source, but found no one but himself.

"I must need more sleep, I'm starting to hear things…" he mumbled as he straightened the hat on his head. His image became his own again, and, unconsciously, he pushed the pendent in his pocket, even though he didn't believe in the image or its ridiculous fables.

Just as he was walking out, a disheveled Jazz entered, looking tired and stressed. Make-shift bases were always the worst, and the situations they come with were always the worst, but that wasn't the reason we looked so tired.

Though he would never admit it, he had stayed awake last night worrying about Prowl.

Soldiers that hadn't had lived here were trying to drink the sight away. At least he had seen Smokescreen silently mourning the loss of his home in Vodka and hushed sobs. At the meeting when it was revealed that Praxus had been hit, he had seen Prowl gasp, just once, his breath hitch, and then become an emotionless mask that had always been there.

Lately though, that mask was more real. Harder, more stone-like, and less natural.

True, Prowl was one of those people that locked it all in, believed you had to be strong for the troops, and all that like Optimus did, but there was a certain strength in letting other people see you cry, and they hadn't seen Prowl do anything but pour out numbers and logic.

But eventually, he would explode. Jazz didn't want him to be alone when that happened, if it hadn't had happened yet. Jazz may not like his attitude, or how he conducted himself so formally before the troops, but he understood like everyone us that Prowl was needed. And they lost so many to locking it all in before popping yourself in the forehead was the only option.

He knew, like everyone else, that Prowl had saved them more times than he could count thanks to those plans of his that, somehow, never ended in casualties, if a some major injuries. If the 'Cons ever got ahold of him…

They needed Prowl to finish this war.

"I just came ta get ya. Ol' Hatchet said ya took a tumble, and wasn't allowed to walk around alone for awhile."

Prowl nervously made sure to hide the newly whitened hair in the hat, but strangely leaving the bangs down, something he normally didn't do.

"You okay?" Jazz asked suspiciously.

"Fine." He answered briskly, locking the door behind him. They walked down the halls silently, the clipped footfalls from Prowl's shoes a comfort.

"What sector is it today?"Prowl asked whispered, trying to keep his voice from cracking. Dang it! He would control himself today! Pull yourself together….

"Sector 12." He said, feeling sadness wash over him, quickly replaced with anger. What was wrong with Prowl? If his city had been taken in such a way, he wouldn't have been able to move because of that grief, much less not cry sometimes. Prowl was over here acting like nothing was wrong. How could be so calm? This was his home!

Prowl stopped in the hallway, and Jazz looked back to see pupil-less eyes staring past his visor and straight into his soul.

"Your right. It is my home, and we defended it to the best of our abilities. I, literally, poured my essence into this city, and watched as it was burned by one I considered closer to me than my own heart. We never expected one of our own to turn against us." The last sentence whispered so softly that Jazz barely heard it. Prowl practically jogged past him, through the gates that lead to the shuttle and the searching party for that morning.

There was anger in Prowl's voice, no doubt about that, so maybe…he mentally recoiled though, before he could think that thought through.

He hadn't said a word of that aloud, he was sure of that.

Prowl had been inside his head.

He pushed it aside and ran out to the rest of the team, seeing who he was with today.

His search party consisted of Ironhide, Prime, he tried not to look at Prowl, and…Smokescreen? He though Mirage had been assigned today. He wondered what he had done to get out of this.

As they silently boarded the ship, he noticed that Prowl and Smokescreen stayed close together, and to the back with no windows. Maybe he was grieving, in his own way. And Jazz had to respect him for that, even if he didn't understand why he would it this way.

The shuttle was quiet, and they boarded off in stern anticipation for what was coming.

Sector 12 had been homes and apartment complexes, sector 13 being a college, close to the Praxian Gardens.

He tried to avoid the crushed pieces of crystal that was strewn over the ground, the small pieces looking like confetti. This used to be one of the most beautiful places, and now it was gone. He had hoped to see them one day.

They switched on the various scanners and alarms that would alert to life signs, and heart beats, and body heats, but they all knew that it would be another day of deathly silent scanners. The Decepticons hadn't left anyone to live.

The group had headed west for about a mile, but Prowl was dragging behind, kept looking back to the Crystal gardens, which were in the east. Prowl looked reluctant to leave the gardens behind. He had never seen them, so he could understand. Seeing those crystals trampled and stamped on, glittering like diamonds on the floor, it was a heartbreaking sight to those that hadn't lived here. He couldn't imagine what Prowl was seeing, remembering them in their full glory. Or Smokescreen, come to think of it, as he kept looking back too.

"I'll be back." Prowl suddenly said, dropping his scanners to the ground, turning east.

"We already checked there." Ironhide pointed out raggedly. "Besides, you aint allowed to go wondering off by yerself. Doc's orders."

"I don't care." He said flippantly. "There's something there. Something important. Come on Smokescreen." And took off in a running sprint, and Jazz couldn't be quite sure, but it almost seemed as if he was riding the wind itself.

Smokescreen didn't ask any questions, but took off right alongside him, gliding on air.

Ironhide went to grab them both, mumbling about idiots and no time, when Prime grabbed his shoulder armor.

"Let him go." Prime said simply, watching the two race.

"But Pryhme…." Ironhide trailed uselessly off, he would not be blamed if the cold hearted bastard passed out and cracked his head open.

Jazz, not aware that he had said it aloud, asked himself,

"When does the last time you ever saw Prowl pursue his gut, instead of logic?"

None of them could name one time, and they froze at the predictable commander's change.

The wind blew, as if on cue, making Jazz shudder, and he could almost swear that he heard a bird's cry echoing on it.


	4. Chapter 4

There was a crackle over the intercoms after an hour of silence, but Prime barely twitched at the sound. This had been one of the longest 3 weeks in his life, trying to find one survivor, one survivor, in this Primus forsaken place. But bodies. Only bodies that he kept piling on top of each other, and graves. So many graves. He's glove covered hands lifted another toppled wall, ignoring the ache in his back and shoulders.

"Prime here." He mumbled. There was a small crackle, still trying to break through the static in the metal-sharpened air.

"…little…" cut through. But the voice was tender, and soft, he didn't recognize it. He stood up, trying to get better reception.

"Repeat."

"One little survivor." He vaguely heard Ironhide drop a metal framed door. Saw Jazz freeze in shock.

"Repeat?" he asked in disbelief. There couldn't be.

"One little survivor." Yes, that was definitely Prowl, but he sounded so young, so loving. He wasn't sure he had ever heard his right hand man sound so…human. "A boy, about 12 I would guess."

"We're bringing him to Ratchet as we speak." Smokescreen cut in, equally soft. There was a shuffle over the coms. He wondered who was cradling the boy. What they had said to lure him out of whatever cubby hole that he had been hiding himself in.

All three of them started running towards the west at the same time.

"Give me your coordinates, were coming towards you." Jazz sounded before he did.

"Unadvisable. Bluestreak has just gotten comfortable with us, and that was after an hour. Formidable looking men like yourselves will scare him into hiding again." He skidded to a halt. There was the Prowl he knew. Logical. But Jazz recognized something that Optimus didn't. Prowl was defensive. He didn't want them taking the kid away.

"Alright Prowl. We will meet you at base." Prime answered.

"Affirmative. Prowl out." And he thought he heard the whooshing of wind before the com cut out.

The transport wasn't to come for pickup till nearly 6 hours later, so they decided to walk it back to base, taking nearly 2 and a half hours on foot. They all wondered aloud how Smokescreen and Prowl, of all men, had found this little survivor.

"Do you think the kid came out because they were Praxian and we weren't? Wary of strangers or something like that?" Jazz asked, looking at the two.

"Ah don' know. Maybe it's cuz like Prowl said. Me and Optimus, if ya didn't know us, do look quite…battle ready. Not exactly friendly to a kid if they don't know any better." Ironhide said, looking over his battle scars. He traced one faintly on his forearm, the slightly pink line showing brightly on his dark skin.

Prime walked silently, focusing on getting to that Medbay.

They finally got over the wall that sheltered their base from the worst of the winds, seeing the troops scattered about. Maybe they hadn't had heard….

"Prime, is it true!? Did they find a survivor?" Cliffjumper ran over to them, yelling the words for everyone to hear.

Oh yea, this was his crew. Nothing spread faster around her than news and gossip.

"We believe so. I'm going to check on the situation now. Please, tell everyone not to crowd the Medbay, I don't think the child will be able to handle the strain." He said informatively. Keep everything in order, as much as possible. He was going to inform them, but only after he had all they information.

"No problems there, Smokescreen literally threw us out if we tried to get in, and Prowl was threatening court marshals for things I didn't even know about. And all legitimate, according to Red Alert." He grumbled.

Ironhide stayed behind to help gather everyone up for when Prime gave the announcement of the survivor, while he and Jazz walked through the corridors leading to Medbay.

They saw Smokescreen before they saw him, standing guard outside the slightly cracked doors. He's arms were folded, and he leaned defensively against the frame, like some kind of bouncer.

"Prime! Jazz!" he exclaimed, standing up a bit taller.

"Do you mind if we see him?" Jazz immediately asked. He just wanted a peek; he didn't have to go in.

Ratchet sounded off from the other side of the door, "Hold on!" there was a pause, and Jazz could hear the faint comfort whispers. Probably telling the kid that nobody is here to hurt him, including the ones coming in.

"Alright." Came the gruff reply.

Both officers came in with hands conspicuously shown, trying to soften the heavy thud of boots.

The boy, because he didn't look any older than 10, at least, and had strange silver hair with dull red bangs, a bright patch of gold in the center. It almost looked like what Prowl's did, when he took his hat off, which wasn't often. Maybe strange colors just ran through the city's blood. He's clothes; a pair of thread-bare pants and light blue shirt were torn and faded underneath the paper hospital gown. He's eyes were the brightest shade of sky blue that Jazz had ever seen, and had a dream like expression in them right now. Probably from shock.

The weirdest thing was that he was perched in Prowl's lap, playing with the gold brass buttons gently, while Prowl gently rubbed his back. Bluestreak, if Jazz remembered what Prowl said correctly, let out a cough, and leaned into Prowl's jacket. The once white uniform was now dirty with ash and soot. Prowl had a soft smile on his face that Jazz was determined to burn into his memory. The boy saw them both and scrambled even closer to Prowl, clenching on Smokescreen's hand. When had he entered the room, much less gotten behind Prowl?

"Oh, it's alright Little one. Do you want me to introduce you? I promise that they are both safe." He whispered softly. Jazz had never seen him be so tender, and from the quick glance at Prime's face, he hadn't either.

A silver head bobbed, and Prowl nodded his head to come closer, cradling the boy to his chest. Both perfectly comfortable, happy even.

Jazz knew for a fact that Prowl flinched away from the touch of everyone in this ship. Even Prime.

Yet here he was, practically rocking this kid to sleep.

They walked up to the berth, and Prime removed his mask. He knew the scars might be scary, but the mask might be worse. Prime remembered once about how it was important to be eyelevel with kids, so he crouched down onto one knee.

"Hello, my name is Optimus Prime." He gently rumbled. "What's your name?" Prime held his hand out in an ancient Praxian handshake. He wondered if the child knew it. If not, if could always be gestured as a high five.

The adolescent smiled softly and ghosted his palm over Prime's, touching each finger with one of his own, and then fully clasping it fully between his two smaller hands. But he stayed silent. Jazz, still bent down to Bluestreak's level, looked up at Prowl.

"How do you know his name was Bluestreak if he aint talkin'?" he asked curiously.

"It was the only thing he said when we found him. After that, he couldn't even walk poor lil' guy..." Smokescreen ruffled his hair, and there was a light giggle. Jazz couldn't help but feel like he was interrupting some sort of family moment.

"And this here is Jazz." Prowl said, silently inviting Jazz to introduce himself.

Smokescreen chuckled. "He's the fun one we were tellin' you about. Him and Blaster can teach you how to dance real quick!"

Now this Jazz could relate to. He loosened up, and crouched down beside Prime.

"That's right, and when ya ready, Ah'll grab Blaster, and we'll cut-a-rug. Sound good?"

Bluestreak nodded his head, his smile growing wide.

"Alright, enough. The kid needs sleep. So git." Ratchet demanded. Jazz, in the corner of his eye, saw a very peculiar sight.

Bluestreak clung tighter to Prowl, Prowl tightened his hold to Bluestreak, and weirder than all of these…

Behind Prowl's side, just out of sight, Prowl and Smokescreen's hands were twined in a slight grip. Like they were all about to be dragged apart, kicking and screaming.

"Prowl, you and Smokescreen are going to be sharing quarters until further notice. He's most comfortable with you two, and I don't want him stressed out to bad. That gonna be a problem?" the thinly veiled threat barely concealed in the fake nice tone. But it was unneeded, in fact, they both looked more than content with the arrangement.

Prime and him took the cue and walked out, saying bye to Bluestreak. He didn't even notice as he started drawing with his hands what he was trying to say to the two army men.

The doors closed behind him, and they started moving towards the officers' quarters. Jazz thought about the best way to approach this.

"Prime…" he trailed off.

"I noticed Jazz. There's something deeper going on here than my second in command and diversionary tactician are hiding from me." He let out a sigh, more concerned than he showed. Prowl had always been direct from him, had even come to him on personal matters on occasion. Smokescreen he would have suspected the secrets from, but not Prowl. Never Prowl.

"Not only that sir, but I noticed something strange. The sun hasn't shone brightly in days, correct?"

"Yes, that is unfortunately true." Prime answered. It had made it difficult to find any survivors in the blackness.

"So how in the world has Prowl been going from bureaucrat pale to sun kissed tan? Smokey also looks like he has a healthier glow in his skin than before." He voiced his observations, and Prime, with a shocking realization, realized it was true. Prowl had been going steadily darker, though it was hard to see in the uniform he insisted on wearing, and though Smokescreen had always been a lighter shade of tan, he had also been growing darker, almost an olive shade.

"We'll keep an eye on him. See what happens. Don't engage them yet."

"Yessir"


	5. Chapter 5

Somebody had leaked. The Autobots knew there were leaks in their force, or spies that Soundwave sent in the form of his little animals, but somehow the 'Cons had found out about their little survivor of a kid. And now, they were pissed as all get out. Also, very willing to 'rectify their mistake'.

Jazz rolled out of the way as a bomb cratered where he was seconds before. His teeth clenched, he went back under cover, the rubble for once coming in handy.

"Prime, where's the kid?!" He yelled over the intercoms, praying that they weren't being intercepted.

"Safe house with Smokescreen." He heard him growl back. More than likely the boss man was tangling with Megatron already. He looked to see Ironhide and a few other foot soldiers slowly getting pulled apart. They had tried to tell Prowl that he had to stay off the battlefield, but he wasn't listening to anyone. He had come to the field, sniping away at purple badge that flashed in his sniper scope.

"He's protection is breaking up, I'm taking over." He informed Prime. He sprinted across the field and jumped into the cover of the rubble, barely dodging the bullets flying in both directions. He didn't wait for confirmation or permission.

He dropped beside Prowl, who was carefully taking aim of a sleek blue and silver plane. The rifle jumped, and the plane went down in a spiral onto the Decepticon's side. He saw that no side was winning, the line was still tied. Nobody was pushing anyone back.

"Prowl, we gotta pull ya out." Jazz said, taking aim with his own gun. He shoot for the center of a Decepticon symbol. He didn't even hear the scream.

"No." he said quite firmly. "I've got questions, and I'm getting those answers." The unsaid 'even if it kills me', was quite clear. He pulled his sniper rifle closer taking aim with one of his famous acid pellets. The corner of Jazz's shades flashed acid green as one of the bullets went flying out of the barrel. Then it went black again. The clouds kept rolling in tighter and tighter, growing darker and darker since the battle had begun nearly an hour ago.

"Yer gonna have ta keep wonderin." Jazz demanded, grabbing Prowl's shoulder, planning to drag him off the battle if necessary. They couldn't afford to lose their best tacticians. Not only would the army suffer, but he didn't think Bluestreak would be able to handle the loss of another loss. His resolve hardening, he gripped the dusty white uniform and pulled him back.

Prowl jerked out of his grip, and Jazz could see that something had snapped inside him. His eyes were practically glowing a fierce lightening blue, his previously unseen white hair looked ghostly in the faint light. There was a patch of gold hair in the center of his forehead that wasn't there before. He seemed to be growing bigger, the uniform becoming tight. He heard the snapping of buttons as the strained under the pressure.

'_It's yer imagination. It's just the battle getting to yer head."_ Jazz thought to himself. He had never seen Prowl so intense, so angry. And then he screamed.

But it wasn't a scream. Like some ancient choir made of eagles had erupted from Prowl's mouth. His pupils disappeared, leaving startling blue eyes that petrified him. His uniform completely tore itself to pieces with the power radiating off of him, wings of fire explode from between his shoulder blades. Lightening cracked across the sky loudly and then Prowl was gone, his rifle forgotten.

As Jazz picked up the white pieces of the uniform, clinging to him with electricity, he wondered what the hell was going on.


	6. Chapter 6

He felt more than saw the collision of darkness and lightening, fighting each other as they finally came together. A flash of white landed on the ground, and there stood what was supposed to be Prowl. His uniform was gone, fluttering across the field like down feathers. In it's place, he ware an ancient extravagant garb that Blaster had only seen in pictures. An accented white lion clothe with black accents that showed off Prowl's muscular tan legs. He didn't recognize the lettering, but it looked old and regal. A long white sleeveless coat just brushed the ground, He saw the glints of arm bands and leg bands and ankle bands, his whole body covered in gold. The thin but strong crown that was royal and elegant and frightening, almost gold, accented with blue and black stones. A bright red flame burned in the center of that crown. His eyes were so different, but still so much the same, the intensity the same, just as powerful, just as commanding. He stared upward at a black flamed winged figure, high above him. Prowl stood, completely unharmed, despite the 3 foot crater.

"Why?" he demanded, an ancient voice bellowed, desperate for the answer it needed. With a single flap Prowl rocketed up in the sky. The battle went still; even Megatron and Optimus Prime had stopped, staring at the two fliers.

Blaster pulled up some binoculars from his pack, and looked up. He recognized the black fired flier as one of Megatron's assassins, a man named Barricade, though he was sure that he was changed as well. He wore the lion clothe as well, except his was black with white accents, the mark of Primus was torn out, leaving the clothe looking ragged. He could tell that the torn and slashed vest used to be the long coat that Prowl wore, but now it left him showing his mid-drift. His eyes were angry and red.

"Because, foolish brother," He slashed at Prowl with some kind of sword, which he parried easily, "These Animaions are crude, barbaric things that don't deserve the privilege of life!" He slashed again and Prowl held him off with his own sword. Blaster knew that if it was anything like the armor he saw on Prowl's body, it was just as magnificent. "I saw their corruptions at night! The rapes! The murders! The abandonments!" Thunder rolled and lightening crashed as their swords collided again. "I thought after seeing all that we had, you would agree!" Blow after blow rained down on the field.

"I know that it was hard. But there was a chance for Salvation for them! Tsillah proved that!" Prowl said. Lightning flashed as he went to strike, barely missing as Barricade flew out of reach.

"Wrong!" he roared. Blaster gasped in surprise, lowering the binoculars. The clouds rumbled.

"Why can it not be as it was before? Why betray your home? You have destroyed everything!" Prowl's frustration showed in the growing storm. Blaster even thought he might have seen a tornado touch somewhere in the back.

"AND I WON'T STOP UNTIL THIS ENTIRE WORLD FALLS!" echoed. Prowl hung in the air, barely flapping his wings. He pulled his binoculars back up, and saw Prowl whisper something to the wind. Blaster was suddenly very thankful that Jazz had taught him how to lip read. He just barely saw the words 'very well', form on Prowl's lips, and a new determination in his eyes. Not to convince his brother to come back to him, or even get answers anymore. He had remembered the people below him. He knew he had to protect them.

Two other flashes streaked across the sky, the clouds parting in that one line to show a clear blue sky. Another streak showed clear white clouds. Jazz snatched the binoculars from him, focusing the lenses.

"Oh my Primus." He mumbled.

"What?" Blaster demanded.

"It's the kid and Smokey."

This time it was Optimus Prime who snatched the binoculars from them both.

Altogether, Prowl, Bluestreak, and Smokescreen rushed towards the black fire.

There was a boom like a nuclear bomb, and then nothingness.


End file.
